Chapter 18
Lauren and Harriet were sitting in front of the fireplace, the candelabrum and two oil lamps arranged around them providing a warm light. Lauren was cutting more leaves for her appliquéd wreathes from a piece of hand-dyed green fabric. Harriet was using scissors to cut small flannel squares from the scraps left over from the rag quilts they’d made. Mavis was rattling pots in the kitchen.
“Okay, I give,” Lauren said after watching Harriet closely for a few minutes. “What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m doing an experiment. One of my customers showed me pictures she’d taken at the Quilt Festival in Houston. They had a category for doll beds with doll quilts.”
Lauren stopped working and stared at her.
“You know, with all that ‘poor me, I went to boarding school’ business you’re always making us listen to, I never pegged you for the doll type.”
“Who said anything about dolls,” Harriet said. “And I’ve hardly mentioned boarding school at all.”
“Yeah, but it’s the excuse your aunt uses every time she’s trying to explain away your bad behavior.”
Harriet took a deep breath. She was determined not to let Lauren bait her into an argument.
“I’m seeing if I can make a miniature rag quilt from the leftover scraps from the homeless quilts. Before his sister came to town, Aiden was going to let me look at the toys in the attic at his place. He said he thought there was some doll furniture his mother had brought with her from France.”
“Good luck with that. That shark that passes for a sister has probably sold off anything of interest or value.”
“I wish Carla would call with an update. I’d like to know what kind of head game Michelle is playing on him.”
“She’ll call. I’m sure she’s waiting for an opportunity when they won’t notice, which means when Michelle is unconscious because that one doesn’t miss much.”
“You’re probably right,” Harriet said.
“Could you say that again?” Lauren prompted. “‘Lauren was right about something.’ Say it.”
“Don’t press your luck,” Harriet said, smiling in spite of herself.
Carter barked and licked Lauren in the face.
“I think that’s his signal for me to carry him into the other room to see who drove into the driveway,” she said and stood up.
Harriet set her flannel and scissors down on the table.
“I’ll come with you. It has to be Jorge and Aunt Beth.”
Instead, Connie and Rod stood on the porch outside the studio when she opened the door.
“Your aunt and Jorge will be along in a few minutes,” Connie said. “They just got Reverend Hafer to take over with Pat and Lisa at the shelter. We found a nurse to take care of Ronald. He had another episode where his face suddenly turned bright red and he started sweating.”
“Did he take his medicine?” Harriet asked.
“He did,” Rod answered. “Little white pill?”
“Yeah, that’s what he took after we found Duane when he almost fainted on us.”
“Don’t just stand there,” Mavis called from the kitchen door she was holding open with one hand while the other held up a ceramic mug. “I’ve got coffee and tea.”
“That sounds good,” Connie said and led the way into the kitchen. Rod came over and petted the still-barking Carter, eventually taking him from Lauren and holding him inside his down vest. Carter quivered with joy as Rod patted his little head and spoke to him in crooning tones.
“He’s a master with puppies and small children,” Connie said with affection.
“Get your drinks,” Mavis said. “We’re starving for information here. And I’ve got beef stew for everyone when Beth and Jorge get back.”
They didn’t have to wait long. Beth came into the kitchen before Connie had taken her place at the table with her coffee mug.
“Jorge is bringing some wood from the stack outside into the garage to dry before he comes in,” she said.
“Does he need help?” Rod asked.
“I don’t think so. He was only bringing in a couple of armloads. We’ve got three cars in the garage, so there’s not room to bring much in at any one time.”
They discussed the rain, the river and the few tidbits of storm-related gossip that had been learned from people at the church shelter until Jorge was inside and holding a hot cup of coffee.
“I’ve got beef stew here,” Mavis announced. “Grab a bowl and help yourself. There’s warm bread wrapped in foil in the pot at the back of the stove.”
“Let’s eat at the dining room table so we have a little room to spread out,” Harriet suggested. The antique dining room set could easily seat ten people and could accommodate twelve without much crowding, so it was definitely more comfortable.
“I’m sure you’re all anxious to hear how it went at the shelter,” Aunt Beth said when the initial feeding frenzy had passed. She proceeded to recite the events from the time she and Jorge told Pat and Lisa the sad news until they left them in Reverend Hafer’s capable hands. There didn’t seem to be any revelations that were useful in solving either of the murders.
“Do they have any idea who could have killed Richard?” Harriet asked.
“If they did, they weren’t telling us,” Aunt Beth said. “And we did ask.”
“More than once,” Jorge added. “According to them, Richard was a hardworking saint with no enemies.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Lauren commented.
“Before we report on Ronald, I’d like to say thank you for the wonderful stew,” Connie said. “It was a pleasant surprise on a cold, powerless day.”
“It’s an interesting combination of ingredients,” Jorge said. “Was that parsnips I tasted?”
“Yes, it was, along with Italian kale, turnips and a green pepper. I brought the fresh veggies from my house when I came over, and Beth did the same, so I used some of everything we had left,” Mavis explained.
“Well, it’s a very pleasing combination.”
“Now, about Ronald,” Connie went on. “We didn’t learn much from him, either. He says he put his earplugs in and crawled into his sleeping bag and didn’t hear a thing until he was awakened by us with the news about Richard.”
“He says he’d never seen the man before coming to Foggy Point,” Rod added.
“That doesn’t help us much,” Lauren said.
“And probably isn’t true, either,” said Harriet.
“What isn’t true?” Lauren shot back.
“I’m not sure, but I can’t believe they’re all that innocent. We all know Richard wasn’t a prince. And if Ronald was such a saint, what’s he doing living in a homeless camp?”
“Now, honey,” Mavis said. “We all know that simply having poor judgment where money is concerned doesn’t make a person a criminal.”
“We were talking earlier, and Harriet and I both noticed an exchange between Richard and Owen, the truck driver. There was definitely bad blood between that pair,” Lauren said.
“Ronald was worried about his safety,” Connie said. “He thinks the killer was targeting middle-aged men at the homeless camp and figured Richard was killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“That gets back to our ‘stranger in the woods’ theory,” Harriet said. “If it isn’t the truck driver then the only option left is some unknown person hiding in the woods.”
“That conclusion assumes we’ve eliminated all the women,” Aunt Beth pointed out. “Joyce, Brandy, Kate and, for that matter, Pat and Lisa, were all there at the critical time.”
“Kate was with us,” Harriet reminded her. “We were in the parking lot when Richard was killed.”
“Joyce was cleaning up the common area,” Beth conceded. “Anyway, she’s so small I have a hard time seeing her kill a guy as big as Richard. But she was out of our sight, so she has to remain a suspect.”
“Same with Brandy,” Harriet said. “She was out of sight, and I could definitely picture her chunking a rock into someone’s head.”